Run in the Dark
by Heptagon
Summary: Daphne is running through the park.
1. Run in the Dark

**Run in the Dark**

Daphne was running in the park. She ran two kilometres, then stopped, because she thought she'd heard someone call her name. It turned out to be Draco, lounging on a park bench as if he owned it, only minimally concerned by the fact that it was not a particularly nice bench, or a clean one, or even entirely in one piece. He seemed only minimally bothered with the reality that he couldn't afford a better park bench, and perhaps this one either. Draco Malfoy had been disowned.

Daphne took the seat proffered to her, not making a point of it being dirty and about to fall into pieces. When one has ran two kilometres straight, even a bench like this might sound like a gift of gold. It all depended on the angle to look at it. Daphne did not look at the bench at all, nor he who was acting as if he owned it.

"Hey, Draco," she told the surrounding darkness. It was not a very nice, or clean, or safe corner of the park. There was nothing more for her to say.

"So, what's happening elsewhere?" he then asked.

Daphne shrugged, "I only know what stories tell."

"What do they tell?"

"They say there's a fake Dark Lord at Hogwarts," Daphne replied.

"Fake? Fake how?"

"Fake like not the real one," she explained, then added with much indifference, "I don't see how this can be, though. I can't imagine the Dark Lord freely handing out his nail clippings."

"Or the Dark Lord having nail clippings in the first place," Draco said with equal nonchalance.

"Exactly," Daphne agreed, nodding at the night.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" he suggested. "We could go to my place and have some… it's not far from here."

"Sounds nice," she said, accepting the invitation. A cup of nice warm tea did sound good on such a cold dark night.

They walked in silence through the nastier bits of the park, until they reached perhaps the nastiest bit of them all. It was a spot almost completely bare of greenery, filled with different sorts of garbage. Somewhere in the middle of it stood a tall white cupboard made of plastic.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Draco said, with only minimal irony and bitterness in his tone. "I call it the Fridge."

"Oh, it looks fancy," Daphne remarked, peering up at it with what might have been awe.

"Wait until you see the insides," Draco said, satisfied with her reaction.

The insides of the Fridge were equally white, and there was a lot of space filled with emptiness. Daphne sat down on one of the three boxes in the room, glancing at his back as he busied himself with making the tea. Then she turned her eyes back to the engulfing whiteness – it was almost as bad as the blackness outside.

"You know," she said, "you could do wonders here with some tapestry."

"I've never been good at that sort of thing," Draco admitted, approaching her with two plastic cups – also white. "But please, do as you like."

Daphne stared at the bare walls, "Maybe after the tea."

"As you wish," he said, handing her a cup. The tea was lukewarm, and tasted…

"Mmm, this is—" she started, but the word _nice_ refused to come out, no matter how hard she tried.

"It's disgusting," Draco finished, laughing, and now there was more than just minimal bitterness in his words.

Daphne nodded in silence. The tea was disgusting.

"I'd offer you a sandwich, but I fear I ate the last of it."

"I'm not that hungry," she said.

"It's amazing the things people throw away," he said. "A little cleaning spell and there's a delicious dinner waiting for you."

"Maybe I can try with the tapestries now," she offered after a while.

"Of course. Let your imagination fly."

She concentrated on bright colours. Little rainbow dragons was the picture in front of her eyes, a memory covered by a film of dust, of a tapestry she had once seen, in another lifetime. She concentrated harder, pressing a hand to the wall, shivering at its coldness. At least it gave her something to do. She could sit here all night, remembering rainbow-colour dragons.

A brief rain of sparkles burst from her fingertips. She felt its warmth with her unseeing eyes. Tiny cheerful dragons glittered in her vision, and she didn't bother to find out if they were real or not. In either case, they would eventually fade.

"This is nice," Draco remarked, approvingly, "I knew you had the eye for this sort of thing."

"It is nice," Daphne agreed. "It is nice to see you. We should do it more often."

"You're leaving already?" he said, disappointed.

"I'd like to stay longer," she spoke, "but it's dark, and I have a long run back."

"Oh. Maybe another day then?"

"Yes, that sounds… nice."

He walked her to the door of the Fridge, walked her to the edge of the clearing, watched her disappear into the darkness. She did have a long run back, to where her own garbage house stood.

Daphne Greengrass had been disowned as well.

Lord Voldemort – the real one – was into disowning people these days. Disowning, dismembering, destroying, whichever sounded the _nicest_ to him.


	2. Garbage People

**Garbage People**

Daphne was running in the park. She ran two kilometres, and then a little more, and then she sat down on a box and stared at the wall. It was very white.

"You can still see your tapestry, if you look really hard."

"I can see _anything_ if I look really hard," Daphne replied, gazing at the colour that was not there. She touched her hand to the wall and watched the tiny sparkles leave her fingertips. The memories danced before her eyes, preventing her from seeing the real outcome.

"I looks very… lovely. Thank you."

"I've been practising," she said.

"Making tapestries?"

Daphne shrugged, "Among other things."

Draco took a sip from his plastic cup, and paused to savour the taste, "This tea isn't half that bad. Where did you get it?"

"I've discovered that there are men out there, who, upon meeting a dazzlingly beautiful woman, are prone to buy her drinks, ice-creams, and even lunches."

"So you stalk dazzlingly beautiful women?" Draco asked, suspicious.

"How kind you are with your compliments," Daphne remarked, "But I have to admit, I have looked better."

"I told you I was practising," she said. "A little glamour added to my excessive natural beauty, and goodbye to starvation for one more day."

"And these men you've discovered, don't they want anything in return?"

"Oh, but they get something in return. They get to spend time with me, to gaze upon my abundant loveliness and listen to the spectacular wit of my conversation. If they aren't content with that, it's their problem."

"You don't suppose there are any women out there," he asked, "who'd like to buy dinners to handsome gentlemen?"

"Gentleman, hah!" Daphne snorted. "I bring the tea, and you don't even offer me biscuits."

"I'm not going to waste my food on you, if you have dozens of men waiting to buy you everything."

Daphne grinned at the wall, "Actually, there are some men out there who'd be very happy to buy drinks, ice-creams, and lunches to handsome men like you."

"That's disgusting," Draco said, making a sound of abhorrence.

Daphne smiled to herself, silently, "You eat food from the garbage. Isn't that equally disgusting?"

"I clean it first. I've got rather good at cleaning spells."

"You do keep this place nice and clean, too," Daphne said, thinking of the empty whiteness behind her. The three boxes in the corner did little but emphasize the engulfing nothingness around them, yet she was very glad they were there. She was glad she could sit on one of those boxes, drink tea that was not half that bad, and gaze into the whiteness of the wall before her, until she was able to see anything in it.

"So, what are the stories telling now? Anything new and exciting?" he asked his usual question.

"They haven't told anything to me," Daphne replied.

"Ah." His reply was curt and highly informative.

"But they are saying something to you?" she inquired.

"There's word on the street, and in the park, that Them have been seen around here."

She heard the excitement in his tones, but felt none herself, "There has always been sightings of Them. They are still out there. What's it to us?"

"The word tells that whoever helps in their capture will be highly rewarded."

"Ah, I see," Daphne said, and indeed she saw it in the whiteness before her. "So you think we should take a little trip, find the free- find Them, take them down and drag to the Dark Lord, who will then open his arms, press us to his bosom, and re-establish us to everything we once were."

"You are being sarcastic. But I'm serious," Draco said, slightly reproachful.

"No, I like your plan," Daphne continued in the same tone, "It's a nice plan. First, I clamour them senseless, then you clean them out with your many brilliant spells, and finally I'll wrap them up in a tapestry. And merrily we roll all the way to our estranged father, to be hugged and kissed and welcomed back."

"Daphne!" he growled, and it had been forever since she'd heard that much emotion from him. She traced the wall with her fingertips, wondering whether she should stand up and start running.

"Look," he said, moving his box closer to her, turning towards her, while she still refused to face him. "Look, I'm not saying this will be easy. It will not be easy, but we should at least try. Daphne, you are becoming really good at wandless magic, even if you're wasting it on tapestries and glamour. But if you just tried, I am sure you could—"

"Paralyze squirrels and stupefy cats?" Daphne suggested. "Yes, I suppose I can."

"So you have been practising. That's great! Because I have, too, and not just cleaning spells."

He sounded so damn excited that she wanted to punch the wall.

"They have their wands, Draco," she said, "and they have been on the run for a while, they have become very good at it. And this is Harry Potter and his friends we're talking about, so they are excellent fighters, as well."

Draco cringed at the name. Harry Potter and his Freedom Army was something he had learned not to mention, because it was the kind of thing to irritate the Dark Lord, and when irritated, he tended to do nice things to his followers, such as disowning, dismembering, destroying. That improved his mood, and everyone wished him to be content.

"We have become better, too."

"Better at what?" Daphne said. "Better at living in garbage dumps? Eating food thrown away by other people? Selling ourselves for a sandwich? And then sitting together, drinking tea, and discussing how nice everything is? Yes, we have become much better at it."

"Staring at the wall and patting it instead of actually doing anything to get out of this dump? Well done, Daphne, superb!"

She took a deep breath. He was trying to make her lose her temper, but she was not yet ready to display that much emotion. She took a breath, felt the coldness of the wall, felt the little sparks in her fingertips, and calmed down.

"I've realized that there is something very wrong about the way magic is taught to us. We have magic, but we are given a wand to wield it. We need a stick of wood, a specially made stick of wood, no less, to use a power within ourselves. We need this stick, we depend upon it. Take the stick away, and we're next to useless. Able to stay alive, but not much beyond. And that cannot be the right way of doing things."

"What is the right way?" he questioned, and she was a little surprised that he didn't press the previous topic, but allowed her this digression.

"I'm sure you have heard stories," she continued, "about people of magic going away to someplace, deserts and alike, to live in complete solitude? You may think them insane, but I think they are on the right path. From what I once read about it, wandless magic is totally different from the other one. That is, using it is totally different. You pretty much have to forget everything you already know about magic and then start all over again. It's not about saying the right words with the right intonation, it's about feeling the right way when saying them. The magic has to come from inside of you, you must feel it come and let it out. You must trust it and honour it. Basically, you must spend a dozen years in the desert to be able to _start_ to learn it the only way it can be learned."

"You've managed quite well without all those years," Draco remarked. "Though it sounds nice to take a trip to someplace warm."

"I can do tapestries," Daphne said, "I can do glamour. And I think I could paralyze a human just like a cat. Provided, of course, that the human gives me half a minute to concentrate and allows me to try again should I fail the first, second, third and fourth time. Then I think I could do it."

"What do you suggest then? Going to live in a desert for a couple of decades, learning the proper way of magic? And then returning and taking back all that is ours with such powerful magic that even the Dark Lord cannot stand in our way? Or maybe we'll grow accustomed to the desert, and don't want to come back at all?"

Daphne let go of the wall, bringing her hand in front of her face for inspection. When she concentrated, sparks shot out from her fingertips. She felt the power, but was not able to use more than just a teeny tiny part of it. Maybe she should go to the desert.

"There's a third option," she said. "But you're not going to like it."

"Really? Because I quite liked the second option."

"If we can't fight them," Daphne said, "we could join them."

"Them? You mean join _Them_?"

"They have wands. And they are good at running and hiding. And they work to bring down the Dark Lord, which I think is our goal now as well."

"I don't want to join Potter and his friends," Draco sulked. "And I'm sure they're equally happy to see us."

"I said you were not going to like it. But childish enmities aside, it is the best option we have."

"So this is your plan? Go on a trip, find the Freedom Fighters, and ask them nicely to take us into their midst? That does sound very _nice_."

"Doesn't it?" Daphne agreed. "Of course, it will not be easy. We may never find them. They are very good at hiding. But I think we should… try."


	3. The NWord

**The ****N-Word**

Daphne was running in the park. She ran two kilometres, then a little more, and then a lot more. But she never ran back.

"Don't say that word!" she shouted.

The woman she was talking to looked taken aback. "I only said it's ni-"

"Don't say it! The n-word."

"You mean n-"

"I mean the word that is spelled like a town on the south east coast of France, where, incidentally, I used to own a house. Before… things went sour."

"Is that why you don't like the word?"

"No," Daphne said, shaking her head. "I don't like it because _after_ things went sour, we used the word a lot. Oh, what a nice day for being cast out from the only world you know, oh what a nice piece of garbage you live in, oh what a nice sandwich you have picked out of the trash can. It was a word we used when we didn't want to think about our new situation, and we used it a lot. Eventually, it came to mean something entirely different."

"I'm sorry. I won't use it again."

"It's… I shouldn't… I'm sorry, Hermione. You couldn't have possibly known something like that. Something this silly. I'm sorry I yelled at you. You have been most kind to me. More than I'd ever dared to hope."

Hermione smiled, "We welcome everyone who wants to fight Tom Riddle."

"Provided that they find you first. You do not make it easy. But that, I suppose, is the whole point."

"Those we want to find us have always managed to find us."

"Right now, we have every reason condemning the Dark Lord and wanting to bring him down," Daphne said. "Are you not afraid that it might change? Are you not afraid that we might _change_, should he promise to give back, in exchange of you, everything he took from us?"

"Can he give you back everything?"

Daphne thought for a moment, then smiled. "No, he cannot. And in any case, he wouldn't. You've been a pain in his bottom for too long a time. He wants to destroy you and everyone who has had anything to do with you. Do you know? You are the ones that must not be named. Not unless you wish to be disowned, or worse."

"Is this why he… broke your wands?"

Daphne lowered her eyes to her hand, to her fingers wrapped tightly around a wand. It felt too long since she'd touched one, held one, been able to wield all that power trapped inside her. No more measly sparks, no more fading tapestries or second-hand glamour, now she was able to cast real magic. Powerful magic. She never wanted to let go of this wand, even if it was an entirely wrong way of learning magic.

"We were in the wrong place at the wrong time," she said. "Someone had reminded the Dark Lord about your lot – our lot, now – and when Draco happened to run across him, the Dark Lord recalled that he had studied alongside Potter for many years, wasting all those opportunities of doing him in. _That_ was enough."

Hermione shook her head, reproachfully, "Tom Riddle is his own worst enemy. If he continues like that, he'll chase away all of his followers."

"He can do whatever he wants," Daphne said, bitterly. "He owns the world."

"No. He just thinks he does. And he won't be thinking it for long."

"You have a plan?"

"We have always had a plan," Hermione spoke. "Now, we are close to completing it."

"It seems we picked the right time to join," Daphne grinned.

"You will have plenty of chances to do your bit of the work," she promised. "Plenty of moments to regret your decision to join us."

"Regret is useless," Daphne said. "Regret is _nice_."

Hermione looked at her, but thought better not to question.

"You've had a long day," she said, "I'll let you rest now."

Daphne gripped her new wand, "Is it safe here?"

"As safe as it can be," Hermione smiled grimly, about to leave the tent, when an uncertainty made her pause, frown, and turn around.

"You never said why Tom made _you_ leave."

Now she was prying, but the way Daphne saw it, she had earned the right to pry.

She shrugged, and spoke the truth; there was little reason to lie. "I waited until he was in a good mood again, and suggested that he might want to call Draco back. Unfortunately, it only reminded him of why he'd sent him away in the first place."

"That was very n– very kind of you."

Daphne shrugged. _Stupid_, she thought. _It was very stupid of me. But how could I not?_

"Don't tell Draco about it," she said, "I don't want him to blame himself."

The expression on Hermione's face was odd, but Daphne did not try to decipher it. Possibly, she didn't think Draco would blame himself for anything. There, however, Daphne knew better.

First spell with her new wand, she made tapestries. Little colourful dragons flying merrily around her, and this time she knew they were real.

"Well, isn't this nice."

She opened her mouth to scream at the word, then snapped it shut. Emotion was dangerous. Let out a little, and a lot will follow, and before you realize it, you have confessed everything you once swore to take into the grave with you.

"You like it? I can do the same with your tent," she offered.

"No, thanks," Draco said, sitting down on the bed next to her. "I think I'd rather do without tapestries."

Tapestries, tea, and the word "nice" – all of them seemed to mean something entirely different. Hermione was right. Tom Riddle could never give them back everything he had taken away.

"You're right," Daphne said, and with a swipe of the wand the tapestries were gone. Better do without.

"Ah, much better," he said. "They were rather nice, though."

Nice. Nice. Nice. That damn word again. She longed to stretch out her hand, press it against something cold, and let sparkles from her fingertips vanish into it. But if she tried that now, while gripping a wand, she would probably end up setting the place on fire. Especially since there were no solid walls inside this tent.

"What do you want?" she asked sharply. Too much emotion. But better this kind than the other.

"I came to see how you're doing," he replied, and she heard the shock in his voice for her unfriendly tones. She remembered that in all of their little get-togethers, his cool demeanour had always cracked. He had learned to display emotion, without displaying excess of it. She had stared at the wall to keep it all inside, and suddenly there was no more wall.

"I'm fine," she said, wondering why it felt like a lie. She was fine. She should have been fine. Everything was fine, finally. Fine, fine, fine. Soon enough, she couldn't use any word, if she continued with this silliness.

"You don't sound fine."

"I'm just tired. There's been a lot of running."

"But I thought you liked running," Draco said, grinning. "Nothing kept you from running through the park."

Daphne nodded. Yes. Why had she always ran through the park, each night, despite the weather, despite the dangers, despite the general nastiness of the place? Because she liked to run. That's why.

"It's all fine now, Daphne," he spoke comfortingly. "We'll be both fine now." Hesitatively, he reached out for her, placing his arm round her shoulders. She did not mind the touch. But she wished he would stop repeating the word "fine". If he did not, she'd have to make him.

"Yes," Draco whispered, more than himself than anyone else, "We're going to be—"

She wanted to slap a hand to his mouth. One of her hands was holding the wand, and she was not going to let go of it. The other had gripped the bedcovers in lack of a solid wall. But he was going to say the f-word, and she was going to stop him, if not with her hands then with something else.

A few moments later it occurred to Daphne that this might have not been the wisest thing to do. She waited for him to protest, but when he did something quite opposite to it, she pulled away and stared at him reproachfully,

"What do you think you are doing?"

"You kissed me," Draco pointed out, grinning.

"Yes, but I only did it to stop you from saying the f-word," she explained, "What's your excuse?"

"F-word?" he said, looking at her. "I thought it was the n-word you didn't like."

"I don't like the f-word either, especially if you keep repeating it to me over and over again."

"I cannot help but wonder, is there any word you do like?"

"Yes, I know," Daphne said, "If I continue with this silliness, soon enough I cannot speak anything anymore. But you're digressing. Don't!"

"You digress all the time," he remarked.

"Yes. Because you let me. Do not expect me to show the same courtesy towards you."

Draco smiled, taking his time.

_Wipe that smirk off your face and explain yourself_, she wanted to say but didn't, because it sounded too much like what she'd used to tell him before. Daphne's timeline consisted of a before, and an after; but now there was also this, and she couldn't give it a name.

"Maybe," he spoke then, a little hesitatingly, "Maybe I like you. Maybe… I've liked you for a long time."

"You never said anything," Daphne remarked, staring past him at an uncertain point, overcome by a sensation of unnatural calmness.

Draco shrugged, "I thought I'd have plenty of time. But then…"

"We never ran out of time."

"No. Just of everything else," he said, bitterly, "I couldn't tell you then. When I had nothing to offer you."

_Nothing but th__ree boxes in the corner and a wall of eternal whiteness,_ Daphne thought. _Each and every night did I run there to enjoy those, because I like to run, that's why._

"And now is a good time?" she asked, sounding doubtful. And she was doubtful, too, but she was also afraid of what she would become if she forsook the doubt.

"When I still have next to nothing to offer you?" he said, grinning, and she really missed the wall now, because punching the bed wouldn't hurt her at all.

Daphne shrugged.

"Maybe I should have waited," he admitted, thoughtful, "but I'm afraid. No; I'm petrified, that the moment we stop running and stop hiding, like this lot, which is now our lot, is planning to do, we are, in fact, going to run out of time."

"There was a before," he said, "And there was an after. This is now, and later there _might_ be a later, but I'm not at all convinced there will be one. Now might not be a good time, but at least it _is_."

"How philosophical," Daphne stated. "Do you regret leaving after? There might have been a bigger chance of later had we remained in after."

"No," he replied with a slight shudder, "After was not a good place."

_It had its perks_, Daphne thought. _I could run all that I wanted._

"So that's the word on the street now, and in the tent – maybe?"

"That's up to you," he said. "Maybe is not half a bad word."

"That's all you've got to offer?" she asked, making it plain that maybe was not good enough for _her_.

"No," he said and smiled. "I've got a much better word for you."


	4. Stop

**Stop**

Daphne was running in the park. She ran two kilometres, and then did not stop, although she did think she had heard someone call her name. But she couldn't stop, so she ran on.

She did love running. She loved the sensation of motion, speed, rushing air. She liked the exhaustion, the feeling of being unable to move another metre, because then she could make an effort, and nevertheless continue, without stopping, without pausing. She would make an effort, and no one could stop her, and things would go as she wanted them to go. She did love running.

It was a warm evening, and running felt easier now than it had ever before. Thus, she closed her eyes and ran on, enjoying the motion, the speed, the gentle touch of air against her.

And there it was again. Someone calling her name, although she did not hear as much as feel it, and the sensation was more of an irritation than anything else, like an insistent fly buzzing on the border of hearing, not quite there, but enough to bother.

And yet she ran on. Stopping did not seem like an option. This sound was as annoying as the occasional pain in her muscles, and it was as easy to make an effort and ignore it. In fact, it was even easier. But even though it didn't stop her, it stopped her from fully giving herself up to the simple pleasures of running, and that must have been the reason why, after a little while, it began to dawn upon Daphne that something was very wrong.

It was not dark in the park, and she usually only ran at night. It was not dark, but nevertheless she was unable to see much. Objects blurred past her, as they of course should do, but she soon discovered she could not focus at anything. It was all one big blur around her, as if she was running a lot faster than she'd ever moved before, on the ground or in the air.

And then there were the people. There seemed to be a lot of people in this blurred park. They stood at the side of the path she was running along, and though they were not blurred, they always passed too fast for her to recognize them. Yet she was sure she knew them, and she thought they'd been waving to her, maybe even calling. But she heard nothing but that one irritating voice that did not let her fully enjoy running through the park.

But it was never because she loved it that sent her running in the park every night. And there was something even more enjoyable than the sensations of motion, speed, rushing air. Something that pulled her out of her shelter and hurried her through the darkness, each and every night. Something that had to do with three boxes and whiteness, but it was not for sitting on one of them and staring into the other that made her take on the distance of a little over two kilometres there and as much back every single night.

She liked to run on without stopping, but she loved to stop when she heard her name being called. There was no sight quite as magnificent as that of the old rotting bench, and a lone figure sitting upon it, sitting and waiting and calling. Because it was never running itself that she loved so much, but the destination of that running, and if she could sit on the box and stare at the wall for all eternities, it was not because in the end she could see anything in it. There was only one thing she wanted to see, and for that she had to turn her head away from the wall.

Stop. She was running onto dangerous ground. Emotion was a dangerous thing. If you let yourself feel one thing, you would end up feeling everything, and nothing could help you then. Confessing, even to herself, even while running, the one thing she had always known in the depths of her hearth, that was the first step into the land of emotions.

Stop. But she could not stop, because she had to run on, and she'd run an eternity, but she had to run on, because she hadn't reached the bench yet and he was waiting. And she'd better get a grip on her emotions on her way there.

But… he'd already called her name, hadn't he? Because there was no one else in the park who would call her name. Daphne. She almost heard it this time, and she had to stop, because he was calling. Would it be wise, to stop now when she already taken a step towards the land of dangers, and confessions, and emotions?

But he'd called her name, and if he called her name, she would stop. She would stop for nothing, for no one, except for him. Even when stopping seemed impossible, she would stop for him.

And thus, as soon as she realized it, Daphne stopped. She stopped and took a deep breath, and through a rushing in her ears she heard someone speak very clearly, "She's got a pulse, thank Albus."

"Daphne," she heard him say her name, loud and clear, and because she'd already confessed it to herself, she went on confessing it. As soon as the words were out, she felt better, lighter, and then everything around her went dark.

Daphne opened her eyes to the familiar ceiling of her tent. After the usual confusion of waking up, there was another big confusion in her mind. She remembered running in the park, but that couldn't have been, because she was a long way from that park, and in any case, no such confessions had taken place there. She frowned, remembering that she had done a bit of running the previous day, when they had stumbled upon trouble, or, as Harry liked to say, trouble had stumbled upon them. But they'd been ready, and she had a wand, and true, there had been that one curse she hadn't seen before a second too late, but…

Oh. Ah. That would explain the park.

"Did I die for real or was it just a dream?" she wondered aloud.

"Daphne! You're awake!"

"Yes," she agreed carefully, still staring straight up. "Am I alive, though?"

"Yes," he breathed with immense relief. "Yes, you're alive."

"But I was gone for a while, wasn't I?" she said. "I was running in the park. At first, I didn't want to stop, but then I heard you calling and I did stop, and took a breath, and… oh."

"What's wrong?" he asked, instantaneously concerned. "Are you not feeling well?"

"I'm fine," Daphne spoke. "I just wonder… I remember… did I by any chance… say anything when I came back?"

There was a suspicious silence, as if he was trying to figure out which answer she would most like to hear. Daphne took a peek of him; his expression matched the silence.

"You mumbled something," he said at last. "But we couldn't make out the words."

The plural in his sentence reminded her that there were other people she should have been concerned about. _They_ had been concerned about her. They had stood at the sides of the path, waved to her and called her back, even if she hadn't heard them.

"Is everyone else fine?" she asked.

"Yes. A few cuts and bruises, all long healed by now," he assured.

"That's good," she said, frowned, and asked the one question that mattered the most, "Are _you_ fine?"

"I am now," he said, and gathered her close, touching his lips to her ear to whisper, "Don't you ever dare do this again."

She snorted, a reply he had not been looking forward to.

"Do you really think I ran through the park each night because I like running?" she asked.

"Don't you like running?"

"I do," she confessed. "I like running when I'm running to you, and I like sitting on a bench about to fall to pieces if you're beside me, and I like staring at the wall when you're there, staring at me. And I love running to you, because I love you, Draco. I loved you before, and I loved you after, and I love you now, and if there is a later, I will love you then. And if there isn't a later, I'll still love you."

He stared at her for a long time. She stared back.

"I know I say regret is useless," he spoke at length, "but we could have had before, and after."

"We did have before, Draco, and after," she said, "but most important, we do have now."


	5. Nice

**Nice**

Daphne was running in the park. She ran two kilometres, and then a little more, and then sighed with relief and happiness as she came upon the white refrigerator that stood there. All was well.

Lord Voldemort – the real one, Dark Lord, You Know Who, He Who Must Not Be Named, or simply Tom Riddle Junior was no more. The plan had been executed, and it had worked.

Nice. Or actually, a little distance from Nice, on the coast, and with a vineyard. The house was pretty and in good order, and even the wine cellars were untouched. She was currently on mission of destroying them.

"Don't you just love the colour of wine," Daphne said, holding up a glass, "and the smell, and the taste. It _must_ be the drink of gods."

She took a sip and savoured it. "You haven't touched yours, Hermione. Don't you like it?"

"It's good," Hermione replied, in a tone full of worry.

But it was such a fine day, and it was such a good wine, and she had got back almost everything Tom Riddle had taken away, when he'd broken her wand and cast her out of the world that he had mistakenly considered his own.

"Would you like another bottle?" Daphne, the good hostess, offered. "Let me go and find you something different."

"No! I mean, no, the wine is wonderful," Hermione said. "It's just that… maybe you shouldn't… have so much of it?"

"Nonsense. It's my wine. I can always make more of it."

"Yes, but this is really old wine," Hermione said, trying another approach. "It is very valuable. Wouldn't you rather save it for a special occasion?"

"Now is the best time there is," Daphne announced. "Because now _is_."

There was a strange look on Hermione's face, but she didn't bother to decipher it. The sun was warm, the wine was good, and everything was just fine. She finished the bottle with ease, but decided not to worry her friend by getting another. Besides, she had just remembered there was something else she wanted to show to her.

"Come," she said, standing up just a little unsteadily. "Come see what I got."

They walked through the park round the house. Daphne had to suppress her urge to break into a run. But that would have been impolite. Besides, she had all the time in the world to run in the park, and drink wine, and run in the park again, and possibly even drink wine while running in the park.

It was a very lovely park, all trees, and bushes, and flowers. Perhaps a bit too nice. A tad of wilderness added here and there, and it might be a little more to her taste. She would have to see to it. Later.

For a while they walked in silence. Then Daphne asked the question,

"So, what's the word on the street?"

Hermione sighed.

"No word?"

The woman shook her head.

To pass the time and make her more at ease, Daphne then inquired after their mutual friends and acquaintances, and made an effort to listen to what she was told. But it was an effort, because she was very much excited about the surprise she was about to reveal, and she hoped Hermione would not think ill of her for paying little attention to their conversation.

When they at last came to the object of wonder and amazement, Daphne had the pleasure of seeing her guest thoroughly surprised.

"Isn't it great?" she asked, stepping closer and beckoning her friend to follow. "Just look at it, isn't it wonderful?"

"It's… it's…" Hermione seemed to have trouble with speaking. She finished it for her, saying proudly,

"It's a refrigerator. I call in the Fridge. Isn't it beautiful?"

Overcome with the awe for it, all that Hermione could do was stare. Daphne, very happy for her reaction, took her hand and dragged her closer.

"Come here, come here. Wait until you see the inside of it!"

"I had an idea," she said happily, opening the door and practically pushing Hermione inside. "Nice is all nice and everything, but I thought I might want to try out the desert, after all. You know, my theory about wandless magic. So I thought I'll take this fridge, fill it up with my best wines, because, apparently that's what fridges are for, keeping stuff cool, but why am I telling this to you, you're the one who told me about it. But anyway, I was thinking that I'll fill it up with wines and maybe some food, too, and take it into the desert with me. For just a little while, maybe a decade or two. What do you think, isn't it a great idea?"

"Come, come," she pulled Hermione towards a corner, where three boxes were placed near the wall. "Here, sit down, please."

Daphne took seat on another box, beaming at Hermione and waiting.

Her guest opened her month, but no words came out. Or maybe they did, and she simply wasn't able to hear them. Maybe here, inside the fridge, in the after, she only had ears for one.

"Look," Daphne said, pointing at the wall, "Do you see it?"

"See what?" Hermione might have asked, or maybe Daphne just thought she asked it. But she replied anyway.

"Anything," she said, grinning widely.

Because this was Nice, and there was no more Tom Riddle. Incidentally, there was no more Draco Malfoy, and through her continuing efforts, less and less of Daphne Greengrass.

**_Fin_**

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

So yes, this was it. Hope you enjoyed it. I did. Once again I thank my weird Potter dreams, whence came this idea as well. The dream consisted of three facts (and not much story): 1) Daphne running, 2) Draco living in a refrigerator, 3) a fake Voldemort at Hogwarts. Now, I could have made this into a humorous one-shot, or a drabble, as my weird dreams usually end up. But I really liked this idea, and I really liked writing about it, so I continued writing it.

For those of you unhappy with such unhappy ending, there will be a sequel in a lighter-brighter tone. However, if you think this story is perfect the way it is, and I should not add one word to it, forget what I said about the sequel.


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